


lost in the in-between (or so it seems)

by LesbianLucretia



Series: still feel (benrey/gordon post-canon) [2]
Category: Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Accidental Date Chaperoning, Autistic Tommy Coolatta, Communication, Gen, Gordon is not okay but he will be, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Not A Game AU, Not AI AU, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Canon, Sleep Deprivation, Touch-Starved Gordon, Zoo day, emotional breakdowns, relationships are not the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianLucretia/pseuds/LesbianLucretia
Summary: It’s been a few weeks since their escape from Black Mesa, and Gordon is struggling with nightmares and intense panic without really understanding why. Everything feels like an uphill battle, these days, and Gordon’s forgotten that asking for help is something he’s allowed to do and that his friends are ready and willing to provide it.
Relationships: Background Bubby/Coomer, Benrey & Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby & Gordon Freeman, Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman
Series: still feel (benrey/gordon post-canon) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837084
Comments: 79
Kudos: 417





	1. when i’m furthest from myself (far away)

**Author's Note:**

> HOO WEE heres the fucking sequel i have written and rewritten it so many times please be happy with it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for this chapter: detailed panic attack

“Gordon?”

Gordon jumps in his seat, jerking his head to look at whoever had said his name. He meets Dr. Coomer’s eyes, wide and uneasy. “Sorry, I just— what were we talking about?”

Gordon looks around the metal table, adjusting his head slightly to get the sun out of his eyes. Sunkist makes a soft whine from under the table, and everyone has paused in the middle of their meals. Bubby and Tommy are staring at him just like Dr. Coomer, all with varying expressions on their faces.

Bubby is frowning in annoyance at him. “Well, we were talking about how I’ve never been the zoo—“

“But then you started staring off into space and— and we got worried!” Tommy interrupts, clear concern on his face.

“Are you alright, Gordon?” Dr. Coomer asks him, his brows furrowed in worry.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He assures them, a smile easily plastering on his face.

“Are you sure?” Bubby raises an eyebrow sharply in his direction.

“I’m sure.”

“Do you swear?” Tommy presses, putting down his fork that still had a bite of waffle on it.

“I—“ He frowns and blinks. “What’s with you guys? You usually take everything I say at face value.”

“You were staring at your omelette for a very long time, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer tells him. “It _was_ rather worrying!”

“Guys, I’m fine. Honestly.” He sighs. “I might not be getting much sleep but that’s all—“

“Are you having nightmares, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks, pressing his knuckles to his mouth. “Nightmares about Bl-- Black Mesa?”

Gordon stops and looks at Tommy, tilting his head curiously. “Uh, yeah, actually. How did you know?”

“We’ve all been having nightmares.” Coomer tells Gordon, pressing his fingers together rather nervously. Tommy nods a confirmation.

“Not me.” Bubby states plainly.

“Oh,” Gordon blinks. “Why not?”

“Dr. Bubby was never built with the ability to dream!” Coomer informs him cheerfully.

“So, what, do you just do the thing where you wake up and it feels like no time’s passed at all?”

“Correct!” Dr. Coomer exclaims. “It’s the most efficient way to sleep!”

“Yeah, I guess it is. I’m a little jealous right now, honestly.” Gordon rubs at his facial hair with a small smile. “Though, it’s kinda sad to not have any dreams at all. They can be pretty fun sometimes.”

“Just rub it in, why don’t you?” Bubby crosses his arms and scowls.

“Don’t make fun of him for not being as privileged as you, Gordon! It’s bad form!”

“Ye— yeah, Mr. Freeman, that was kinda mean!”

“I was just—“ Gordon takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Bubby. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, you didn’t, but I forgive you anyways.”

“Right.” Gordon deadpans, and stands up. “Look, I gotta get going, guys, I have to keep looking for job openings. Thanks for brunch.”

He doesn’t have to reach down to give Sunkist a pet, the dog had been laying nearly under the table at her master’s feet but had perked up when Gordon stood. He grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and picks up his sunglasses from next to his half eaten omelette and empty coffee mug. He pauses though, and looks up to see all of them continuing to watch him carefully.

“What?” He asks, frowning. He tries to make eye contact with them individually but they all look away before he can. “What?”

“Mr. Freeman…” Tommy trails off, looking more concerned by the second.

“Are you really, _very_ sure that you’re alright?” Dr. Coomer looks up at him almost shyly.

“Yes. I told you guys— what is this? What’s going on? Are _you_ okay?”

“We’re just worried, Gordon.” Bubby says, sinking into his seat more. “You’ve been pretty out of it, recently.”

“Wh— dude, I just said—“

“We know you said you are but— but this has been going on for a while, now and—“ Tommy looks away again while blinking rapidly— and suddenly Gordon’s rising frustration fades instantly. Sunkist looks up at Tommy and shifts slightly so that her face is leaning on her master’s lap, nosing at his fidgety hands.

“Hey— Hey, I’m alright, Tommy!” Gordon puts his hands up and waves them around in an awkward attempt to console him. “I’m fine, okay?”

Dr. Coomer gives him a somewhat skeptical look. “Gordon...“ He trails off but doesn’t look away.

“Look, I just— Yes, I’ve been having nightmares but I’m a grown man. I pay _bills_ , I have a _doctorate_ from _MIT_ in _Theoretical Physics._ I can _handle_ a few nightmares.” Gordon sighs heavily, trying to let go of the tenseness in his shoulders. He attempts to put on a reassuring smile for them. “It’s nice to know that you worry about me so much, but I’ll be okay, guys. Really.”

The three of them share a glance at each other, communicating silently. When they look back to him, Bubby is the one who gives him a short, sharp nod. “Alright, then.”

“If you say so, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer smiles back at him.

Gordon’s own grin relaxes into something a little more genuine. He looks to Tommy, who is still fidgeting in his seat and avoiding eye contact. He glances up, once, before it falls back onto Sunkist. He gives him a gentle pet on Sunkist’s giant head and scrunches his eyes up for just a second before finally looking up at Gordon again, an unusual mixture of sternness and worry in his expression.

“Do you promise that you’re really okay, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks him, his voice low and quiet, obviously forcing himself to hold eye contact.

Gordon deflates a little, that firm pressure on his chest returning ever so slightly. “Tommy…” He murmurs, taken aback by his seriousness. He inhales. “I promise.”

Tommy shakes his head and brings his hand up, his little finger carefully extended. “You— you gotta pinky promise! You can’t ever break a pinky promise!”

Gordon raises an eyebrow and looks to the other scientists at the table. Bubby shrugs.

“If you break a ‘Pinky Promise’, you’ll be hunted by the entire U.S. Military and shot down like a rabid dog!” Dr. Coomer confirms cheerfully. 

“Didn’t we kill them all?” Bubby points out. Coomer pauses for a moment to process this.

“If you break a ‘Pinky Promise’, you’ll be completely safe from the nonexistent U.S. Military— but you will be thoroughly shamed by all of us for lying!”

Gordon snorts and chuckles under his breath. He hesitates for just a second but he eventually hooks his right-hand pinky with Tommy’s, who perks up immediately.

“I pinky promise that I’m okay.” He says, and Tommy’s pleased grin lights up his face. They bob their hands, shaking on it, and Gordon pulls away to start putting on his jacket. “Now that we have that sorted, I honestly do have to go.”

“See you later, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer waves at him.

“Yeah! Bye, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy cheers.

“Is he going to finish this?” Bubby points at Gordon’s leftover omelette.

“I’ll see you guys later!” Gordon waves over his shoulder and walks away. He hops on the back of his motorcycle (parked just down the street from their brunch spot), replaces his normal glasses with his prescription sunglasses, and takes off. 

He gives one last wave as he passes by their table and drives away feeling heavier than he has in days.

Gordon knows he isn’t exactly doing perfect. The fact that he even looked them all in the eyes and lied about it makes it all the more difficult in his attempt to contain it. 

The nightmares… they weren’t normal nightmares. Not the kind he knew how to deal with, anyways. His throat would be hoarse when he woke up, flashing images still pounding against his skull like fists against a cage. He tried to forget about them the next morning but he was just so tired all the time, it was getting harder and harder to keep himself on track. The actual content of them varied, he never knew what to expect, but it was always horrifying enough to make him restless for the entire day.

For the past 2 weeks he’s been plagued by this— this shit and everything he’s done in an attempt to fix it has done nothing. They didn’t even start to happen until three days after—

After.

Gordon bites back a frustrated groan and clenches his right hand harder on the handle of his motorcycle. God, it’s like he can’t go just thirty minutes without thinking about fucking Benrey and Black Mesa and the week he spent in hell. He just wants to be able to live in the present, to be able to stop and smell the fucking flowers just for once in his life-- 

But he can’t. He can’t because that heaviness he’s felt, that distant feeling of dread, hasn’t gone away.

Gordon is losing his mind— again— trying to figure out why. Why he feels sick to his stomach all the time, why he can’t get a good night’s sleep anymore. 

Why he can’t get rid of that invisible pressure on his ribcage like something is pushing down on him, trying to hold him in place. 

Why he can’t stop thinking about that night— seeing the tenderness in Benrey’s face melt into the closest thing the man had to fury.

(Benrey was like a brick wall to him at first, but now he’s practically an open book.)

(He really does not want to think about why that is.)

Gordon wants to move on and forget about Black Mesa, about Benrey, but every single time he finds himself alone and sitting in silence his thoughts always drift back. 

He thinks about the grin Benrey gave him when he agreed to play video games with him. He thinks about the pure joy he saw on his face as he threw his head back and laughed so hard at Gordon’s baby raging. He thinks about how it took only minutes for him to check on him, the concern in his voice through the door, his carefulness, the way he tensed before melting into his touch, the way he was swaying when Gordon leaned closer—

Gordon thinks about the expression on Benrey’s face as he was calling him out on the damn mind fuckery he was throwing at him and he feels like he wants to throw up.

He remembers how he just stood there, after Benrey had slammed the door in his face like a child. He’d just… stood there. His hands shaking and his heart pounding and the fading adrenaline making him feel woozy. He had stood there and stared at the door as if he would come back, as if his giant head would phase right through to taunt him, as if he would see a skeleton in the corner of his eye.

He’d stood there for a long time.

Benrey didn’t come back.

So he’s here, just trying to forget about it. Forget about him. Write it all off as a PTSD nightmare and ignore the physical evidence that he was ever even there.

To Gordon, Benrey was dead.

(He wasn’t and you know it.)

Benrey was fucking with his head again.

(The look in his eyes— would he be able to fake that kind of hurt?)

Benrey left, he left, and he’s not coming back.

(Please, _God_ , come back—)

Gordon shakes the thought from his head and grits his teeth. He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to be thinking about anything else _but_ this. Everything’s gonna go to absolute shit if he doesn’t get his head on straight.

He— he can’t get caught up in all this shit. It happened and it’s done with and he needs to move on. He can’t change what happened but he refuses to let the past control him like this. Gordon fucking _refuses_.

He’s putting his foot down here and now. The past is in the past. Taking back control of his life is what he needs to focus on. Keeping up with his commitments and responsibilities. Not letting himself spiral. Forcing himself to forget it all. There’s no point in hanging onto this! None! He got out and he’s safe and his friends are safe and he’s back to living his life to the fullest.

Alright. What does he have to do? 

He needs to do more job searching, maybe buff up his resume. Dr. Coomer had mentioned that they needed a new physics professor at the state university in the city— he could get in contact with them. He was a TA for a short time while getting his PhD.

Oh-- Joshua is visiting for the weekend, and it’s Thursday. He needs to clean the house and pick up juice and snacks for him.

He takes a deep breath as he stops at a light and exhales long and slow. Okay. One step at time, he’s gonna get back on stable footing and leave everything else behind him. He’s moving on and forgetting about all of it.

He’s ready to take it all on.

———

When Gordon gets home the next evening he shrugs off his suit jacket, drops his wallet and keys in the bowl near the door, loosens his tie, and faceplants into his sofa with a groan.

That job interview went so _shit_.

He’d zoned out seven times in 15 minutes, asking multiple times for the interviewers to repeat the question, and had literally fallen asleep while waiting. He’d had a nightmare the night before, and something in it was so visceral and terrifying that it’s been stuck in his head all day. Curling in his gut like a parasite and making him jumpy.

(He had been back in Black Mesa, in it. Alone. Utterly alone.)

(The worst ones are always the ones where he didn’t have anyone watching his back. No one to distract him from the real horror that was happening. The things that he did, too.)

(No one with him as he stares into giant, dark eyes and struggles to fight against something so much bigger than he could ever understand.)

Despite all his preparation— he’d laminated his resume and ironed his suit with a pot off the stove because his steamer had gotten jammed, goddamnit— they’d told him they would call him in a tone that actually said that they would not be calling him.

Gordon groans again and reaches up to tug the hair tie out of his hair, throwing it on the coffee table, letting his curls hang loose. This was the third damn interview that he’d fucked up this month. He was going to run out of options and start applying for jobs that he was far too overqualified for. Maybe he’d have to throw his MIT doctorate in the trash because that’s all it’s fucking good for, apparently!

“Graduated summa cum laude and this is what I get,” Gordon laments to the empty house. “Nightmares about alien dimensions and a non-recyclable radiation suit that’s just a glorified pile of paper weights.”

He sighs. That was a good joke. If only someone was here to laugh at it with him. 

(Benrey would have laughed.)

Gordon doesn’t have the energy to even be upset that he’s come back around to Benrey. He just feels so, so tired. Everything seems so… small, compared to what he’s gone through.

Maybe he _should_ rob a bank. Gordon huffs out a single laugh at the thought, but still tucks it away for a rainy day. 

The laugh melts into a sigh. It’s been _weeks_. Weeks and weeks of this. Rejected applications, failed job interviews, ignored calls and giving out resumes like candy on Halloween. He sees Joshua on the weekends, has Skype calls and brunches with the Science Team and even _Darnold_ , once— but everything else has been nothing but pain and frustration and more pain. Something’s gonna make him snap one of these days.

Gordon presses his palms into his ryes. He needs— he needs a fucking _break_. A break from job hunting, from resume editing, from being a dad, from any and all reminders of Black Mesa. Like a cruise, or a vacation to somewhere tropical, or just a night out.

Gordon sits up a little.

That’s… not a bad idea, actually.

He pulls himself up fully and feels something almost like excitement bubbling in his chest.

Oh, this is a _great_ idea.

It takes some time for Gordon to get ready. He hasn’t done this in a long time— not since he graduated and moved out west for his fancy new lab job. It’s downright exhilarating to be going through the motions again, the small little routine he’d been so fond of ever since he was an undergrad.

Gordon goes through his closet, finding his favorite— and best— outfit he’s ever owned. He has to squeeze into it a little but it’s just as incredible as he remembers— all dark navy with gold accents and a small splash orange. He gels his hair back, puts the ponytail back in, trims his beard, and trades the glasses for contacts.

When he’s done he leans back in the mirror and gets a good look at himself. Shirt buttoned down just enough to be classy and attractive, the gold studs in his ears, and flashy watch. His eyes unhidden from his glasses and with just enough mascara to make his lashes pop without it being obvious.

Gordon smiles at his reflection and strikes a few poses, giggling like a maniac because of how incredibly giddy he was to doll himself up like this again. He realizes how much he missed it now, and makes a silent promise to do it more often.

“Damn, I look nice as fuck.” He laughs, pulling out his phone. “I have to send a pic to the—“

He pauses, though. Wasn’t this supposed to be his night off? No more reminders of the bad shit, and — even if they didn’t mean to be— Tommy, Bubby, and Dr. Coomer were all living, breathing reminders of the bad shit. 

Gordon hesitates for a moment, frowning. He settles to take just a couple pictures of his outfit and send one to them tomorrow.

Tonight, he’s letting himself forget.

———

When Gordon steps into the club’s doors, he finds his smile turning into a wide grin.

The bass from inside the club can be felt from outside, each thump echoes in his teeth and rings in his ears. The music is loud and the lights are flashing bright, neon colors are everywhere and constantly moving.

Rainbows adorn nearly every wall, every Mardi Gras necklace, every drag queen, every bead bracelet. The smell of sweat and alcohol is so strong and makes his head swim (painfully) pleasantly, he already feels drunk on just the feeling of being one with the crowd. 

Gordon expertly maneuvers right to the bar, ready to calm that already-building (terror) anxiety in his gut with something sweet and fruity. He carefully avoids touching someone completely covered in glitter and orders one of the more expensive cocktails.

The drink is perfectly sweet and fruity and warms his stomach in such a comforting way. He smacks his lips and grins and gives the bartender a generous tip before leaning against the bar. 

He stands there long enough to finish a second drink and get started on a third. Just watching the crowd, feeling the music in his chest and letting himself float on the (terrifying) euphoric feeling of being (trapped) encased in a crowd of (potential enemies) people.

Gordon sighs happily.

(Gordon sighs timidly.)

“Hey.”

Gordon (snaps) turns his head to look at the person addressing him. 

They’re tall— taller than Gordon by a good couple inches— with a face Gordon can’t come up with a descriptor for other than very, VERY handsome. Their voice is deep, baritone, and they’re wearing a simple but rather catching outfit.

Gordon smiles at them, the warmth in his stomach making him feel bold (tense). “Hey.”

“I haven’t seen you around before— you new in town?”

Gordon laughs (nervously) a little. “I live here, I just don’t get out much. My schedule usually doesn’t give me much free time.”

The stranger grins and pretends to sigh sadly. “That’s a real shame— you’ve got such a nice face, you should be able to show it off more.”

Gordon’s face warms at the flirting and he quickly takes another gulp to (drown) encourage the (anxious) pleased feeling pooling in his abdomen.

The two of them begin to go back and forth, the stranger flirting more and more and Gordon slowly unraveling and relaxing. 

It’s so refreshing to just have a normal conversation like this, no having to answer 5 year questions or herding the other person around in some attempt to stay on topic. He can say something funny and get a laugh instead of blank stares and a cut off greeting. He can flutter his eyelashes and watch them do the same and see them pick up every single signal he’s giving them without any misunderstandings.

(He feels guilty just thinking this— all he’s doing is blaming the Science Team for things they can’t help and things that don’t even really bother him.)

His heart rate kicks up when the stranger leans in a little more and opens their mouth— just enough for Gordon to pick up their intentions. Gordon tells himself that it’s just attraction. He’s attracted to them, they’re attracted to him, it’s all so flattering (nauseating) and overwhelming to feel a mutual attraction like this after years. 

(Except he knows what attraction feels like and it’s not this—)

(Except there’s no butterflies, no warm pools, no slow motion effect, no startled inhale when he touches them gently, no softness or tenderness in their expression as they don’t look at him all wide eyed and red-faced—)

(Except they’re too tall, too slim, too nice, too gentle, too normal—)

His face flushes in delight (shame) as he wets his lips with his tongue. They smile a little as they watch him do it and they move a little faster

(He looks into their dark brown eyes— so different from icy blue— and sees only hunger.)

Gordon leans forward just as they do, closing his eyes. The warmth is his stomach is heavy and anchoring.

(The warmth is gone. There’s nothing but dread left.)

Their lips crash into his and it’s so— unceremonious, so anticlimactic. It’s cold and robotic and it makes his stomach clip into the floor. They’re pressing a hand to his jaw and chills are going down his spine as he just methodically goes through the motions.

(Would it have been just like this, he wonders? Or would it have been better— nicer?)

(It would have been better solely because of the fact that it would have been him Gordon kissed.)

His jaw moves and his head tilts just enough and he moves his hand from their hip to their waist and he feels wrong.

(They taste like rum and coke and Gordon wishes it was blue raspberry.)

It’s over just as quickly as it started and Gordon shudders as they pull away. He gasps sharply and pants, blinking rapidly as he opens his eyes. His mind is foggy— Why is his mind so foggy? He needs— it’s just the alcohol, he just needs to drink more—

He withdraws from touching them entirely— putting a finger up when they begin to question— and shakily reaches for his drink before tipping the rest of it back. It burns now and he chokes on it, swallowing forcefully and wheezing. He leans heavily on the bar and swallows again, his mouth watering as his stomach lurches. 

The room is spinning— round and round again and Gordon can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, desperate and crying for more oxygen and he’s trying— he’s trying so hard but his lungs aren’t fucking working— he can’t breathe— he can’t see—

Something grabs him by the arm and forcibly drags him away from the bar. He stumbles, grasping onto whatever it is in a desperate attempt to stay standing when his knees begin to give out. 

His head is throbbing so painfully and his vision is swimming and there’s a voice in his ear saying something but it's so far away, now—

The cold October air hits him like an explosion. Every single cell in his body flinches when he is pulled outside, but it feels like his mind clears up in a single instant. He gasps again and can’t repress the relieved sob that forces its way out of his throat as he’s gently sat down on the pavement. 

Gordon tries to breathe in the fresh air but his lungs stutter and he sobs again and he’s crying— fuck, he’s crying—

“Come on, guy— just breathe, in and out.” The stranger tells him with a gentle hand on his back. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Just breathe.

He does what they say but God, this is so humiliating. He hates this, he hates that he’s fucking doing this in public, he hates his fucked up brain and his stupid lungs for— for not even doing what they’re _supposed_ to.

Gordon presses his palms into his eyes and shudders out a breath before swallowing and trying again. He follows the stranger’s lead, trying to match his breaths to their own exaggerated ones. 

Eventually— when he has a more solid grip on his breathing— he leans his head against the exposed brick against his back and keeps his eyes closed. The cold wind bites at his damp cheeks and goes right through his clothes.

“Hey, you back with me?” They say jokingly and Gordon grimaces. 

“I’m sorry,” He blurts out. “God, I’m really sorry. About everything. I didn’t— I’m— I’m sorry, I should just— go.” He stands up slowly, leaning heavy against the brick, willing his legs to stop shaking.

“H— hey, man—“ They call after him, but he ignores them as he walks away. He can’t— he can’t stand being in their presence anymore. The shame burns his throat and his face— if he fucks up anymore tonight he’s not sure he could take it.

So he walks away. Down the alley and out onto the packed street, each of his steps is harder than the last. Gordon walks for a while just to get his legs to stop feeling like jelly and to sober himself up. He can barely think past the burning shame, so he tries not to.

When he finally flags down a cab, his fingers are numb as he settles in the back seat. 

The car ride is silent and suffocating, the sound of pop music makes Gordon’s head throb. The driver doesn’t say anything outside of asking for his address but Gordon can feel their judging eyes pressing into him. He ignores them and watches out the window the whole time. He looks at his reflection and sees the black streaks running down his face and not-so-subtly rubs them away. The driver continues to keep silent.

When he gets home, he stumbles out of the cab after shoving a couple bills into the driver’s hand. They speed off and Gordon’s left standing on the sidewalk in front of his house.

He slowly walks inside, going through his ritual as if he was on autopilot. Keys, wallet, shoes, jacket. He makes his way into the bathroom and goes through his ritual there, too. Contacts, ponytail, shower.

Gordon turns the water on as hot as it’ll go. He doesn’t wait to step in once he’s got his clothes off, letting the icy water slowly warm as he just... goes through the motions. Body, hair, face.

Until he’s left standing under the steaming spray, burning into his skin. Not willing to get out just yet. And so he has no other choice but to think about it.

 _That_ — that was a _stupid_ idea.

Gordon drops to the floor of his tub and brings his knees to his chest, ducking his head between them. The shower rains hot water onto him.

What the _fuck_ was he thinking?

Gordon isn’t a young, dumb, childless college kid anymore. He— he can’t be doing shit like that! He can’t be going out just to kiss strangers before he even tells them his goddamn name— he can’t believe he let himself act so _recklessly_. Tonight could have gone so, so much worse if he hadn’t had that panic attack.

What even was the _point_ of it all? It wasn’t just to have a break and he knows it— he knows his brain, Gordon knows that there was something else—

(Icy blue eyes and a startled expression and so soft, so soft—)

He wants to tear his fucking hair out.

Why? Why why why? Why him? Dear God, why does it have to be Gordon that has to deal with this— this shit. He’s a good person! He gives out his spare change, he compliments strangers, he puts things back on the correct shelf if he changes his mind— he doesn’t deserve to have his head continuously _fucked_ with!

It’s such bullshit for Benrey to have left for good and for Gordon to still have to put up with his stupid mind tricks. He doesn’t want to think about him anymore— he doesn’t want to want him anymore! Every fucking time he closes his eyes Gordon sees his stupid fucking face.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s Gordon’s fault this keeps happening— his brain refuses to dream of anything else. It’s just nightmare after nightmare of Benrey, Benrey, Benrey. His own goddamn brain isn’t even on his side here.

He sighs and digs his fingers into his arms. Being angry doesn’t fix anything, though. He can be angry and upset all he wants but it won’t make anything better. He has to suck it up and do something about it. There’ll be time for anger later.

“C’mon, Gordon, think.” He urges himself on. What can he do? How does he fix himself? How does he stop the _nightmares_ — how does he stop thinking about _Benrey_?

Gordon almost _laughs_ when he realizes the easiest solution to this issue. 

He just needs to _stop sleeping._

No more nightmares, no more fear— in fact, it would give him more time to do the things he needs to! And, yeah, it wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ last forever, but it’ll be okay for a little bit. Just enough time to find a more stable solution. He knows that from experience while studying for his doctorate at MIT.

Plus, it’s not like he necessarily needs to sleep every night like he did in Black Mesa— he has abundant access to the good ol’ combo of sweet, sweet caffeine and taurine. 

He leaves the shower and gets dressed in casual daywear instead of something comfy— he can’t risk falling asleep, after all.

He makes a pot of coffee and gets himself a mug to enjoy at the lovely hour of eleven at night. 

It has to have some sort of Pavlov effect on him, because the second he sits down at his computer with a cup of coffee and damp hair still resting on his shoulders his brain shifts into productivity mode. Gordon gets right into working on various cover letters, writing emails, sending voicemails and editing his resume as the time passes. He drains his cup and refills it a lot as he works, taking small 5 minute breaks to watch the coffee drip. 

It’s not until he goes to make more coffee and finds an empty canister does he stop to look at the time. When he looks to his oven clock he frowns and double checks the clock on his desk. The same time. That— that can’t be right. If it really was that long— it’s only been 3 hours at _most_.

He quickly goes to his living room window and opens the curtains and is blinded by sunlight.

Gordon blinks. He— did he really just spend the entire night getting shit done? A laugh bubbles up and out of his chest. 

“Holy shit,” Gordon grins. “This— this is fucking _awesome_.”

Practically bouncing on his feet, he grabs his keys and wallet to head to the closest convenience store. He pauses for a second and decides to grab the keys to his shitty station wagon— the one he bought off Craigslist when Joshua had been born. 

Gordon greets everyone he sees with a wave and a smile when he goes into the small gas station store. He makes a b-line straight to the coffee and grabs a big container. Then, he catches sight of the energy drink section.

As he deliberates on which flavors to get, his phone rings. He jumps a little, startled by the sudden noise, but quickly fishes the phone from his pockets and answers without looking at the Caller ID

“Gordon Freeman.”

“Good morning, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy’s voice comes through clearly, and Gordon smiles at it.

“Hey, Tommy! What’s up, man?”

“Oh I’m just— just on my way over to Dr. Coomer’s and Dr. Bubby’s house!” He tells him. “I’m so excited for today! It’s gonna— It’s gonna be amazing!”

“Oh yeah?” Gordon hums as he grabs a couple blue-colored Mountain Dew Amped Game Fuel cans. “Why’s that?”

Tommy pauses on the other side of the line and Gordon frowns. “Tommy? You okay?”

The man laughs. “Oh! You— that’s a good one, Mr. Freeman! You— I almost— I thought you’d forgotten about taking us all to the zoo today!”

Gordon chokes on his own spit and proceeds to hack out a lung. “Nope!” He wheezes into his phone. “Nuh— hrg— no way! I’d— I’d never forget that!” 

Gordon tucks the phone in between his shoulder and face begins to frantically grab snacks off the nearest shelf.

“Yeah! I would— it’s— I would hate for you to forget and miss out on all the fun we— that we’re gonna have!”

“Yeah,” Gordon squeaks. He grabs a cooler and starts throwing sodas into it. “We— we wouldn’t, uh, wouldn’t want that! Nope!”

“...Are you feeling alright, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks. “You sound strained!”

“I’m fine,” He hisses through his teeth as he drags the cooler to the front and throws his card on the counter before running back to grab a bag of ice. “I’m— I’m just— exercising! Gotta— gotta keep up my daily routine!”

“Wow, I didn’t know you have an exercise routine!”

“Yep!” He huffs out, dropping the bag on the counter and leaning against it as the clerk scans all the soda and snacks. “Gotta stay fit! You know how it is— anyways, what um— sorry, what time did I say I was picking you guys up?”

“In fifteen minutes!” Tommy tells him, and Gordon’s smile becomes manic as the clerk continues to slowly scan each soda. “Oh— Hi, Dr. Coomer! Hi, Dr. Bubby!”

Gordon hears Bubby and Coomer greet Tommy as he supposedly arrives at their home. “Listen, I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay Tommy?” He says as he struggles with inputting his pin number.

“Ok, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy says. “See you soon!”

Gordon hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket. He thanks the clerk and lugs everything out to his car, thanking the universe for granting him this one pass of him taking the car to the store instead of his motorcycle. He gets the cooler situated in the back— now full of ice, soda, and snacks for the team— and hightails it towards Bubby and Coomer’s home.

It takes only ten minutes to arrive when it normally would take twenty. 

Gordon does not know how this happened. He will not talk about how this happened.

He pulls up to the pair’s home and sighs heavily, sinking low into his seat as he watches Tommy, Bubby, and Coomer all meander up to the car.

“Hello, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer greets him, taking the passenger seat.

“Hey, Dr. Coomer,” Gordon greets him, exhaustion creeping into his voice.

“Hi, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy smiles as he climbs into the back.

“You got here early, Gordon.” Bubby says.

“Yep,” He replies, popping the ‘p’. “I brought some snacks, by the way, so that we don’t have to buy mediocre and overpriced bullshit—“

“Is there soda?” Dr. Coomer lights up, looking to Gordon as Tommy and Bubby begin to root around in the back for the cooler.

“Yeah, I got—“ He hears the dual crack of soda cans and sees Dr. Coomer’s head snap to look at Bubby and Tommy so fast that Gordon wonders if he broke his fucking neck for a second.

“My dear Bubby!” Coomer gasps, scandalized. “Are you drinking a Soda without offering me one?”

“N— No! I was just— opening one for you!” Bubby insists and shoves the open Pepsi at Coomer. “Here!”

Coomer doesn’t hesitate before guzzling the entire thing and crushing the can in his hand like a grape. “Oh, Professor, you’re always so thoughtful!”

Gordon doesn’t miss the quiet, dejected grumble of “It’s _doctor_ ,” from the backseat, followed by a third can being opened in penitence. 

Gordon can already feel that they might not all make it out alive from this trip. He sighs and pulls onto the street.

Half way into the car ride— while Bubby is trying to convince Gordon why he should have the aux cord— Tommy makes a curious noise and holds up an energy drink.

“Mr. Freeman, is this yours?” Tommy asks, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Oh— yeah, can you hand it to me?” He reaches back with his right hand and the can is deposited into it. “Thanks.” He purposely ignores the worried looks from Tommy and Coomer and sets it in the console cup holder.

At the next light, Gordon cracks it open and chugs half of it. He’s never preferred energy drinks but sometimes you need the most caffeine you can get— and this one has double the caffeine content over a cup of coffee.

“Gordon?” Coomer asks quietly from the passenger seat as he wipes his mouth with the back of his left hand.

“What’s up?” He replies, trying to keep his eyes both on the road and on Coomer.

“How did you sleep last night?”

Gordon hunches his shoulders slightly. “Fine. I slept fine.”

“Really?” Tommy presses, skepticism obvious in his tone.

“Yes, really.” Gordon rolls his eyes. “Look, guys, I know I mentioned the nightmares a few weeks ago but I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t need to check on me over every single thing.”

“I— We know, Gordon—“ 

“I know you’re just worried, I get it, but please no more pushing this? If I wasn’t okay, I’d— I...” He trails off. He can’t find it in himself to keep the lie going. He sighs again. “Just— stop nagging me. I know I’m the youngest but don’t— don’t treat me like I can’t take care of myself.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fr— Gordon.” Tommy says first, wringing his hands. “I— I shouldn’t have tried to push it.”

“You’re as right as ever, Gordon.” Dr. Coomer says. “I’m very sorry.”

“I didn’t say shit, I don’t have to apologize.” Bubby leans back with a bag of sour patch kids and a soda. “You’re a grown man, Gordon, you can fill your body with as much garbage as you want.” He punctuates this with a sip from a regular Mountain Dew.

Gordon smiles in relief. “Thanks guys.” He tells them genuinely, his shoulders relaxing.

The rest of the ride is pleasant. Bubby continues to vie for the aux cord but Tommy’s reign continues with begrudging acceptance when he plays some kind of peppy, anime-sounding song that makes all three of them cheer. 

Gordon grins at their antics. His chest buzzes with something light and happy the whole time and he doesn’t notice he’s bobbing to the beat until Bubby shoots him a smirk when he glances into the mirror, but he doesn’t seem to want to stop.

They arrive at the zoo and get a good parking spot. It’s way early and a weekday to boot, so it’s not packed at all. 

Tommy makes sure that everyone has sunscreen applied and they all pass the bottle around until they’re all up to code in his eyes. Coomer recites the Wikipedia article on sunscreen as they do and then offers to carry the cooler until Gordon shows off it’s wheels and extending handle. 

Gordon pulls out a brochure from the center console of the car and begins to go through his plan for the day but is cut off by Bubby saying “Can we just go? I want to see the fucked up birds they have!”

“Now, Dr. Bubby,” Coomer approaches the man and begins to fiddle with his clothes. He dusts off Bubby’s shoulders and adjusts his leather jacket’s collar. “I know you’re excited for your very first zoo trip, but we have to make sure we have enough time to see every exhibit! I’m sure Gordon has thought it all through very thoroughly.”

Bubby blinks and looks down and away from Dr. Coomer, his shoulders going up to almost his ears. “I know,” He says, almost submissively, his face pink, before his expression morphs into a sneer— directed towards Gordon. “I just think my own plan would be better, but if Gordon wants to play the leader again that’s fine. Just don’t fuck it all up.”

Gordon lets the barbed comments slide as he tries to process what the fuck he just witnessed. Was— did Bubby— Gordon’s not even sure he saw that interaction correctly or if the Mountain Dew Amped Game Fuel is fucking up his head even further.

He takes one glance at the half-empty can, chugs the rest of it, and decides to completely ignore all of that for now.

“Alright, team,” Gordon calls out, replacing his normal glasses for his sunglasses. “Let’s rock ‘n roll.”


	2. feeling closer to the stars (outer space)

“It was obviously threatening me! It _wanted_ to fight! What kind of man am I if I don’t defend my own honor?”

Gordon puts his head in his hands. “You— you don’t have to defend your honor to a _zebra_ , Bubby.”

“It’s just a glorified horse— except it’s way _worse_ than a horse! What’s the point of evolution at all if the damn _zebra_ is just gonna spit in its face and decide ‘fuck it! let’s become the brightest, flashiest, shittiest horse ever!’— it’s like it _wants_ to become extinct!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with this! You can’t just try to climb into the exhibits!”

“Well, _I_ didn’t know that!”

“ _There was a sign that said not to!_ ”

“Sir, please don’t touch the fence of the Timeout Zone.”

“Sorry— sorry.” Gordon takes a step back from his position of rattling the chain link fence gate that Bubby is currently stuck behind and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m _really_ sorry but… how long is my… friend…going to be in— ugh— ‘The Timeout Zone’?”

The zoo security officer pulls out a small handbook and flips through it. “For attempting to assault an animal and attempting to enter an animal exhibit unauthorized is… 1 hour.

Gordon rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “Is there _any_ way at all we can get a shorter sentence? We’re kinda on a time schedule here and—“

“Nope. Sorry, no appeals for attempted animal assault. He’s gotta wait the full hour.” She shakes her head and crosses her arms

“But—!”

“No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“But I—!” He’s cut off by Coomer this time, who pats his shoulder.

“Allow me, Gordon!” He tells him and steps in front of him. “Please release my friend right now!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“...No."

“Please release him!”

“No.”

“Well, Gordon, it’s very sad but we'll just have to leave Bubby behind.”

“Harold!” Bubby cries out indignantly. “You can’t just leave me here! I’m very claustrophobic, you know!”

“Well, Gordon, it seems we have no choice but to break our dear Bubby out by force.”

“Hold on, Dr. Coomer, let me try!” Tommy whispers as he passes them by. He goes to stand right in front of the guard and straightens his posture. He adopts a smile that Gordon has never ever seen on Tommy’s face— but one that he _has_ seen on the man’s father.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, Miss Security, Personnel.” Tommy says to the warden of the Timeout Zone, his tone changed completely and his hands folding behind his back. “This— this is his first time going to a zoo. He’s never seen most of these animals, you see, and he—he just loves all animals so much that it would _destroy_ his dreams if he were to—to miss seeing some of your rather... remarkable specimen. I know _you_ wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining a man’s dreams, hm?” He adjusts the fidget ring on his finger without looking away from her. “Because, well, I— I certainly wouldn’t want to get on our, um, our bad sides.” 

Tommy inclines his head and Gordon sees Coomer smile at the guard in a way that makes shivers go down his spine. “So… if you w— would be, so kind as to um, to release our friend here…?”

The security guard swallowed thickly and moves to unlock the Timeout Zone gate. Tommy, Coomer, and Bubby cheer as he is released from jail and the three of them all high five.

“Nice shooting, Tommy!” Coomer says, grinning. 

“Damn, Tommy, that was _sick_!” Gordon says, giving him a pat on the back. “I totally forgot that you could threaten people so well!”

“I learned it from my dad! He’s always good at— at being threatening so I just copy him!” Tommy puffs out his chest in pride for a moment but deflates rather quickly. “But I don’t like doing it much— it feels mean!”

“It was mean of her to lock me in there!” Bubby lifts his nose up. “I can still feel the cold, hard grip of those chains…” He shudders, his hand moving to his throat in remembrance.

“There were no chains, you were just sitting in the remains of a tool shed.” Gordon points out.

“The screams I heard…”

“That was _your_ screaming!” Coomer points out jovially.

“You can’t blame me for that! I hate being trapped in small spaces. It reminds me of the damned tube.” Bubby grumbles out, crossing his arms. 

Gordon frowns and puts his hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “You aren’t gonna get put back into your tube _ever_ again. I won’t let it happen.” He says as he tries to comfort him, giving him a firm look. 

Bubby looks away, adjusting his glasses. “I know that already! But… thanks. I guess.”

Gordon smiles and offers a soda to cheer him up. He takes it with a scowl and sips at it leisurely while they try to get back on schedule.

They go to see the penguins next. Tommy is enamoured with the little guys— as is Dr. Coomer and Bubby but not as much. Tommy coos at them from afar and winces when one slips on the wet concrete. Bubby snorts at it but earns a glare from Tommy for laughing at it. 

They go to see the flamingos next. Gordon barks out a laugh when the three of them try to get a picture with them all holding up one leg only to fall over just when Tommy’s little polaroid camera goes off. Not wanting the reminder of their failures they pass it off to Gordon, who smiles and folds it to fit into his wallet. 

On their way to see other exhibits, they find a souvenir vendor that Tommy takes just one look at and gasps. He runs up, fishing out his wallet, and buys all of them small things. He buys a foam pirate hat for Dr. Coomer, a necklace with various animals on it for Gordon, and a pair of oversized sunglasses for Bubby. For himself he just buys a little penguin keychain that he carefully clips onto his house keys. 

Bubby’s sunglasses fall and break on the pavement when he attempts to run and scare some flamingos that are too close to the fence. They have a small ceremony where they stand around a trash can sadly as the glasses are gently lowered in.

(Tommy buys him a replacement safari hat.)

As they go back into the african animals section to see the animals they missed when Bubby got caught trying to fight the damn zebras, there’s a loud noise like a train horn. Gordon jumps right as Tommy slams his hands over his ears and he whirls around, trying to find the source.

“Holy shit!” Bubby calls out and runs off suddenly, dragging Coomer with him. Gordon yells at him to wait and has to jog to keep up as they all run right up to a tiny train.

Bubby pays Gordon no mind as he comes to a stop right in front of the kiddie train station as passengers are unloading.

“Oh my god, it’s a tiny train! Look at tis, Harold!”

“It is quite adorable!”

Tommy gasps softly. “Ohhh, it’s so— so cute!! I— I wanna ride the train!!”

“You!” He points at the zoo worker currently in charge of the train. “I want to ride your train!”

“Uh…” They blink and shift uncomfortably. “You gotta have a kid with you—“

Bubby and Coomer grab Gordon and shove him to the front, offering him as an example. 

Gordon makes eye contact with the zoo worker and mouths the words, “Just let them.” The employee blinks at him.

“It’s five dollars a person.” They say dejectedly.

Bubby grins like a madman as he pulls out his wallet (that looks suspiciously like Gordon’s) and slams a twenty into the hand of the poor zoo worker and climbs in without asking anyone else if they want to. Gordon sighs and maneuvers himself into the small car, sitting next to Tommy while Bubby and Coomer are sharing the seat in front of them. 

Gordon checks his pockets and quickly takes back his wallet from Bubby while the train starts up.

After a few minutes, while Coomer and Bubby are ahhing and oooing over the exhibits, Gordon glances over to Tommy, who is looking out the window of the train. Gordon frowns when he sees his expression— he looks upset.

“Hey,” He says, putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Are you getting motion sick or something?”

“Oh!” Tommy sits up and faces him. “No, I’m okay! I— I just…”

“Just what?” Gordon presses lightly.

“I… I thought that I saw someone I know— knew.” Tommy mumbles, his worry turning to sadness. Gordon hums, trying to find the right words to say.

“Was it them?” He asks, and Tommy pauses before shaking his head.

“No— No, it— it didn’t look like him.” He says and shifts a little in his seat. “But— but I just… thought it was him.”

Gordon’s shoulders slump as Tommy goes back to looking out the window. He’s fidgeting with his bracelet, now, tugging at the beads and twisting them as he bounces his leg. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but instead he sings. A quiet and odd melody followed by lights coming from his mouth. The lights start out grey but fade into a cyan, hanging in place in the train car before slowly fading away. 

Seeing this makes Gordon flinch and panic rise in his chest before remembering _right, that’s right, Tommy’s done it before_. He takes a deep breath and leans back, watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the train ride is somber for Gordon, with him keeping an eye on Tommy as Coomer and Bubby make fun of the zebras together. It’s completely unlike Tommy to seem so melancholic. Gordon wonders what he just said, with his Sweet Voice, but quickly decides to not ask. It felt… personal.

They get off the train next to the Asian elephant exhibit, which immediately gathers the attention of Bubby and Coomer. Tommy starts following after them but Gordon grabs him by the wrist. 

“Tommy.” The man turns around and gives Gordon a confused look, but he just throws his arms around him. Tommy sinks into it immediately, not hesitating to hug him back and sigh into his ear.

“Thank you, Mr. Freeman.” He murmurs so softly that Gordon has to strain to hear him. 

They pull apart and Gordon gives Tommy what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He returns it but glances over Gordon’s shoulder for a second before doing what Gordon would describe as an almost _comical_ double take.

Then, Tommy’s surprised expression morphs into something akin to panic. 

Gordon snaps his head to look in that direction. He drops the cooler handle before sprinting towards Bubby and Coomer, who are both trying their damndest to get into the elephant enclosure. 

Gordon hooks Coomer under his arms and physically drags him away while Tommy handles Bubby, who swears and struggles against him. 

“Tommy!” Bubby screeches. “ _Let me ride the elephants_!”

“No!” Tommy cries out, and gasps when Bubby manages to wriggle free and drop to the pavement. He lunges and tackles Bubby, holding him in a hug. “You— you can’t!! They’re— they’re just gonna put you back in the— the _Timeout Zone_ if you do!!”

Gordon grunts as he pulls Coomer away from any more elephants, thankful he’s not fighting him at all. Gordon knows he couldn’t overpower him.

Tommy picks up Bubby, who has now given up riding the elephants at the threat of being put back into timeout. He holds him under his arm like a football and sets him down gently next to Dr. Coomer.

Gordon chews them both out as Tommy gives them his best stern frown. Neither of them apologize but they do say they won’t try it again. Gordon doesn’t believe them at all but lets them lead as they continue to wander.

They visit the frog section next. Coomer seems to really love the little guys, for some reason or another. When Tommy asks about it, Coomer just recites a wikipedia article about a type of frog that kills you with only one touch. Bubby says he wants to test that out with one of these frogs and Gordon quickly escorts them out of the frogs.

While they’re walking to find a place to have lunch, the three of them pause to look at an events board. Gordon sighs and puts a hand on his hip and lets himself breathe for a moment. He’s losing steam quickly— he can feel his body feeling heavier and heavier as he goes on. 

Gordon rubs at his eyes under his glasses, stretching out and almost losing balance. That. That’s bad. He can’t be _this_ tired already… can he? That really can _not_ be happening right now, they still have hours to go. He can’t be wanting to fall asleep any time soon— he still needs more _time_.

Gordon pulls out another energy drink out of the cooler— shaking the melting ice off of it— and cracks it open, not hesitating in beginning to slowly chug it.

He only opens his eyes while still drinking after hearing an odd noise, only to see that it’s the animal carousel. (The one that also doesn’t allow adults without kids on and has an operator that seems to care more about upholding zoo rules than the previous one.)

He has half of thought— involving bringing Joshua, once he’s a little older, maybe next year— before he inhales sharply and chokes on his drink. He spills it down his chin and coughs some up onto the pavement but he doesn’t even notice the mess he’s making. 

No, Gordon is frantically scanning the crowd of parents around the carousel as his body attempts to expel the soda in his lungs. He wheezes and tries to find it, see a glimpse of it again because he fucking _swears—_

Gordon _swears_ to himself that he just saw Benrey.

It had to have been him— black hair, stupid hoodie and jeans. It had to have been Benrey. 

He uses the back of his arm to wipe his face and cranes his neck, scowling. If that son of a bitch is still _following him_ —

“Gordon!”

Gordon startles and can’t muffle the yell that comes out of him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and whips his head to look at the person— at the people next to him.

“Holy shit,” Gordon’s voice wavers. “You scared the fuck out of me, man.”

“Sorry,” Is all Bubby says, not sounding apologetic at all, though Tommy does _look_ apologetic at least. “I was just going to tell you about—“

Gordon’s eyes immediately wander back to the carousel, still searching. He looks and looks, watching the carousel go round and round, hearing Bubby talk yet not hearing him. 

He’s finally able to pick out a head of messy black hair with a dark blue hoodie and tenses, his can denting in his grip.

 _Turn around_ , Gordon dares the figure, _turn around, you motherfucker._

They do. They turn their head just enough for Gordon to get a read on their face and— and…

And it isn’t Benrey.

Their dark brown eyes and the way their hair looks more brown than black in the sunlight is proof.

(Why did he think it was him in the first place?)

Gordon exhales heavily.

(Is that him feeling relieved or disappointed?)

“Gordon, are you even listening to me at all?” Bubby cuts into his thoughts, irritated. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What?” He furrows his brow, trying to ignore the barb and the sudden rush of irritation. “Sorry— what were you saying, Bubby?”

“I was saying,” Bubby crosses his arms. “That I want to see the performance at the animal theatre after lunch.”

“Uh,” Gordon rubs at his facial hair, “Okay, but _why_ are you telling me this? You usually just seem to do whatever the fuck you feel like doing.”

“Won’t it cut into your schedule, Gordon?” Dr. Coomer points, tilting his head.

“I literally _don’t care_ anymore.” He throws his non-occupied hand up. “The schedule is completely _fucked_ at this point _anyways_ , so there’s absolutely no reason to follow it.”

“Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed!” Bubby tries to whisper to Coomer, but Gordon’s hackles raise.

“ _Stop fucking_ —“ He closes his eyes tight and growls, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, we can go see the performance after lunch, okay? Happy?”

“Not really.”

“I am!” Coomer smiles.

Tommy doesn’t say anything, he just sort of tilts his head to the side and frowns. Gordon sighs roughly and drinks the rest of his energy drink before throwing it away.

They have lunch. Well, more like they have a prolonged snack break. They have a little sit down at a picnic table but Gordon opts to pace around instead. He can’t get too comfortable, he’s more liable to get _more_ tired like that. Instead he has some Cheez-Its and another energy drink and stands around as the three scientists eat. 

Once they're done with lunch, they have time to spare still. Dr. Coomer spots an ice cream vendor and orders a large soft serve for him and Bubby to share. They all walk around for a little bit, circling back to watch the flamingos. 

Bubby and Coomer take the lead, sharing their ice cream and having what appears to be a very animated conversation. Bubby says something excitedly and accidentally gets a drop of ice cream on his face— but Coomer doesn’t even blink before using his thumb to wipe it off for him. Bubby freezes up and his cheeks flush pink before he quickly recovers. Bubby keeps walking, his conversation slightly more subdued and shy than it had been previously.

Gordon watches all of this unfold with high curiosity. He turns to Tommy, who is humming next to him.

“Did— did you just see those two?” He asks, pointing up ahead where Coomer is laughing at something Bubby’s said and Bubby is looking far too pleased about it. “Oh my god, they’re doing it again.”

“Doing what, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks, confused.

“They’re— they’re flirting!” Gordon hisses out, mindful of his volume. “Coomer and Bubby— they have to be. There’s no way they aren’t flirting.”

“Oh!” Tommy chuckles a little. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t sure earlier but it’s kinda obvious now!”

“Oh thank god,” Gordon breathes. “I thought I was losing my mind here, Tommy. I thought for sure I was just seeing things again.”

Tommy laughs louder this time, moving his hand in front of his mouth. “You— You’re completely sane, Mr. Freeman! It’s just that those two are— are just like two— two headcrabs in a swing!” The way he says it with such conviction-- despite Gordon having no idea what it meant-- is enough to make him burst into surprised laughter.

“That makes no sense, Tommy,” Gordon wheezes. “But I— I get what you mean? Somehow.”

There’s a lull as they all pause to watch the flamingos again. Gordon stays about 20 feet back with Tommy, leaning on the fence and watching them insult and torment the birds. 

“I feel like a parent chaperoning a date.” Gordon shakes his head softly. “Like-- how long has this even been _going on_?”

“I think it’s been happening ever since the resonance cascade!” Tommy recalls, a finger on his chin. “I’m— I’m not too good at reading people, but! All signs point there as the— the starting point!”

Gordon lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Bubby got it baaaaad.”

“I think that— that it’s very sweet.” Tommy smiles brightly at the sight of Coomer and Bubby, now debating over who should get to eat the waffle cone. “What about you, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon tenses. “What— what about me?”

“Is there any— anyone special in your life?”

Gordon deflates with a frown. “I hope not.” He says, being honest for reasons he doesn’t really know. “I really hope not.” 

Tommy makes a sad humming noise and Gordon closes his eyes in preparation of the questions Tommy’s about to ask. 

Instead, though, Tommy’s interrupted by Bubby screeching after a flamingo comes up and steals the waffle cone right out of his hands. He immediately lunges after the bird, swiping for it. 

And Gordon sees _red_ when Bubby begins to teeter over the edge of the fence dangerously.

He doesn’t hesitate in rushing over and grabbing Bubby by the collar before throwing him away from the fence, making the man stumble back but not quite fall.

“ _Gordon_!” He yelps out. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“My problem—“ Gordon seethes, jabbing in the chest with his finger. “— is _you_ ! You keep fucking doing to one thing I say not to! The one _fucking_ thing!”

“I wasn’t—!”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what you have to say! The next time that happens you’re—“

“Gordon,” Dr. Coomer speaks up. “Bubby was—“ He stops when Gordon rounds on Coomer, now. 

“I don’t wanna hear it from _you_ either! You were _enabling_ him! _Both_ of you are the guilty parties here!” He fumes, hissing through his teeth. “I’m just trying to do a good thing for you guys and you’re just— just spitting it back in my face!” He moves his arm up, gesturing, but flinches when someone puts their hand on it and blocks it.

“Gordon,” Tommy cuts in quietly. “You— you should let it go. He— he really didn’t mean to.” His pale green eyes are earnest and pleading as he looks down at him. 

Gordon breathes, his chest heaving with each breath. He grits his teeth hard enough to hear them creak and slowly takes a step back from Bubby.

“ _Fine_ .” He yields, lowers his arms to his side. Tommy sighs in relief but Gordon continues to glare at Bubby. “But if you try that shit again? I am _not_ going to try to stop you. You can deal with _those_ consequences on your _own_. Got it?”

Bubby rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, giving a cursory sniff in Gordon’s direction. “You’re not the boss of me, anyways.”

“ _Are you fucking_ —“ He catches himself and forces himself to take a deep breath. “Let it go, Gordon. Let it go.”

“That— that’s it, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy encourages. “Just like the song in the hit Disney 3-D animated movie _Frozen_!”

Gordon unwillingly wheezes out a laugh at that. “Yeah, yeah— just like Frozen. Ugh.” He takes a deep breath and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “God. Let’s… let’s just go see the— the thing. The show or whatever.”

Bubby forgets about being mad the instant that Gordon mentions it. He grins sharply and grabs Dr. Coomer by the wrist, dragging him away. Gordon takes a second to just breathe, trying to will himself to actually calm down.

“Are— are you going with them?” Tommy asks, and Gordon just leans against the fence and sighs again. Tommy waits a few seconds, giving Gordon time to reply, before asking a separate question “...Do you want me to-- to take over as leader again, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon looks up at him. “You— You’re really offering? Not like— as a joke?”

He nods. “Ye— Yeah! It’s just— you deserve a break.”

“Some time alone _does_ sound nice…” He laments. “But— could you handle those two on your own?”

“They’re gonna be distracted by the animal show,” Tommy explains. “I’ll— I’ll be a-okay!”

Gordon grins in relief. “Tommy, you’re literally a lifesaver. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Freeman!” He wraps his arms around Gordon, who relaxes instantly.

“I’ll come find you in an hour.” Gordon promises and pulls away. “Go catch up and make sure they’re not in trouble already.”

Tommy salutes him and waves as he runs off to catch back up with the duo, dragging the cooler with him. Gordon waves back and watches him round a corner and disappear.

And then— Gordon’s alone. Again.

He wanders, for a bit. Strolls around on his own, trying to wear off his own energy. Two energy drinks in such a short amount of time really might’ve been a bad idea— his heart is pounding. His hands shake only slightly, but that’s more manageable than everything else. There’s something wrong— not specifically but there’s this nervousness deep in his bones and he knows it’s probably a caffeine overdose. 

His legs start to tremble too, after a few minutes, and at this time he elects to sit down. He bounces his knee and tries to distract himself by watching the clouds. Focusing on breathing. 

(Ignoring the way his brain catalogues potential exits and possible weapons.)

Someone taps his shoulder. 

He flinches away violently, and his hand moves to his waist to rest on his concealed holster.

They back away and apologize for startling him over and over as he immediately swallows his adrenaline and grasps the front of his shirt, willing his heart to calm. 

He looks at them and apologizes himself, laughing a little and playing it off as having a fear of some of the more dangerous animals around.

He gives them the directions they originally were asking for. They thank him and go on their merry way, casting a glance and a hand wave over their shoulder. He returns it but presses his palms under his glasses and into his eyes once they turn back around.

Gordon feels so fucking _bad—_ they were just looking for directions and he almost pulled a _gun_ on them. Imagine if they had been a little closer— had touched him a little too firmly— had tried to forcibly turn him around—

They would’ve been on the ground and Gordon would have even _more_ innocent blood on his hands.

He wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of that one.

He bites his tongue to force back a frustrated groan. Obviously sitting around wasn’t doing him any good— he should walk around and try and catch back up with the science team. 

Gordon speed walks in an attempt to really work out this buzzing in his veins. It works, somewhat, and when he sees Tommy’s bright yellow and red hat in the crowd, he realizes the distant anxiety has faded and so has the shaking.

“-- what we talked about.” Tommy’s saying just as Gordon walks up. He turns around when he hears Gordon approach and lights up. “Oh!! Hi!! Did-- did you have a good break, Mr. Freeman?”

“Hello, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer says.

Bubby keeps quiet until Dr. Coomer nudges him with his elbow hard enough to make him stumble and rub at his ribs. “Eugh, fine, God-- I hope your walk was nice, Gordon.”

“Hey, guys,” He says, eyeing them as they all listen patiently with full attention on him. “And yeah, I did have a good break. Really helped clear my head.” 

“That’s great!” Tommy claps his hands together. “Now we can-- can go see more animals together!! With no rule breaking!!”

“Aminals!” Dr. Coomer says.

“Yes, yes, no more causing Gordon undue stress or anxiety even if it’s completely irrational--” Bubby is suddenly face planting into the pavement due to both Tommy and Coomer kicking out his knees simultaneously.

Gordon looks down at Bubby picking himself up with a glare at the two men behind him and then looks up at Tommy and Dr. Coomers faces. They’re paying no mind to Bubby swearing underneath his breath and continue to smile at Gordon.

“Uh, is he--?”

“Amnimals!” Dr. Coomer says.

“Yeah! Let’s-- let’s go see the animals, Mr. Freeman!!” Tommy tells him.

Gordon blinks slowly. “Right.”

Bubby huffs as he brushes himself off and side eyes an apologetic-looking Dr. Coomer, who murmurs something to him when they both think Gordon isn’t watching. It makes Bubby relax and say something back-- but before Gordon can even try to strain to hear the hushed conversation, Tommy links their arms and swiftly guides him away.

(Something dark in Gordon’s mind tells him to keep a very close eye on the two of them, and Gordon feels inclined to listen to it.)

(After all, the last time people started having secret, whispered conversations around him, it didn’t end well.)

Tommy starts talking a mile a minute as they enter a small cage enclosure where they can interact freely with some tropical birds. He mentions reading about some of them in his books-- Tommy even talks about the native home and diet of a small, mango-colored bird that looks about one wrong look away from attacking some poor woman that's in there with them. Coomer makes a b-line to watch a macaw groom itself and immediately begins to recite it’s own Wikipedia page to it. 

There’s a small, light-colored bird that takes one look at Bubby and starts chirping like crazy. It bobs its head up and down until Bubby looks at it and then it starts yelling louder. Bubby glares at it. It flaps its wings and chirps at him harder.

Gordon doesn’t pay attention to any of this very much. Well, he keeps his eye on Bubby as Tommy continues to infodump about the birds. Instead, he’s paying attention to everyone’s mannerisms. 

Tommy keeps a friendly but firm grip on his arm-- his right arm. His dominant hand. He keeps positioning himself in between Gordon and Bubby whenever they get close, and distracts him if he thinks Gordon’s been staring at Bubby for too long. Coomer stays close to Bubby and keeps looking at him, meeting his eyes, whispering to him, and obviously communicating… _something_ . Something secret. Something that Gordon, maybe even _Tommy_ , isn’t privy to.

And Bubby-- Gordon hasn’t _ever_ been able to see Bubby’s eyes behind his glasses but he knows he keeps glancing at him. Side-eyeing him. Keeping Gordon at arms length and trying to hide his quiet murmurs to Coomer. It makes Gordon whip his head around every time he thinks he hears them talking again. They stop by the time he has eyes on them but Gordon can feel his skin crawling when he looks away again. 

(They’re planning something. Gordon knows they are. The question is _what_?)

They move on. They go to the reptile cave. Tommy doesn’t come and excuses himself, saying he has to use the bathroom. 

Gordon observes the snakes and lizards behind their glass but keeps Bubby and Coomer within reach. Coomer notices this-- he has to have noticed Gordon’s creeping suspicion because he keeps trying to distract him with increasingly cooler-looking snakes. 

He doesn’t let it distract him enough to keep his eyes off Bubby for more than a few seconds-- Bubby, who has his arms crossed and is leaning on the walls a few feet away. He’s scowling, looking at the floor, avoiding even the smallest glance around.

This behavior is suspicious in its own right, because Gordon was sure Bubby would’ve been really into the snakes, at least. 

They leave the exhibit faster than any of the others. 

When they return, Tommy greets them all with snow cones and Gordon can’t help but feel a little off-put by it. Pleasantly surprised, yes, but… Gordon waits until he sees Bubby eat some of his before letting himself enjoy it.

They all wander, now. The reptile exhibit had been the last one to see. It’s mid-afternoon and even in late autumn, the New Mexico sun is beating down on them.

Tommy points out a small picnic area on the map and they all follow him. Gordon keeps a few feet away, walking behind them. 

Bubby and Coomer are whispering again, walking right next to each other, and Gordon is going to figure out exactly what they’re planning before it happens this time.

And now, he’s gotten close enough to hear bits and pieces without alerting them.

“--not well. Could hurt --”

“--his fault. Not like --”

“--small room --”

“--make a scene --”

“--Gordon won’t --”

Gordon tenses and strains to listen, hearing his own name shooting his heart rate up. He gets about a foot closer and leans forward, still undetected.

“--it’s coming up, now! We must do _something_.” Coomer hisses, gesturing with his fist hitting into his open palm.

“Fine,” Bubby huffs. “If I have to. Look, I’ll just--”

Gordon almost yelps in surprise when a woman runs into Bubby, shoulder checking him so hard that he stumbles— and his snow cone is shoved right into the front of his sweater. The red of the flavor syrup smears and soaks into the fabric as he gasps and drops it completely, holding his arms up.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry—” The woman starts, reaching her hands out to do something to help, but Bubby snarls at her. 

The beanie on her head ignites instantly and she _screams_. Tommy acts instantly, throwing it off her head and stamping it out. The woman glances at Bubby in terror as he bares his sharp teeth and sucks in a sharp breath and then she’s running away—

Right towards the security booth, where the zoo officer they’d had to deal with earlier was waiting.

“Oh dear.” Coomer says, and he and Tommy don’t even hesitate before they both take off in the same direction— most likely in an attempt to prevent Bubby from being jailed again— leaving Gordon and Bubby alone.

“Dude,” Gordon scowls at Bubby, who is ignoring the burnt mess of cotton on the pavement and is glazing around for something to clean his shirt off. “That was a bit overkill. She didn’t mean to do that.”

“ _I_ didn’t mean to-- it just happens when I get startled, sometimes!” He growls out, turning his face to Gordon. He gestures to a nearby one-stall bathroom with his head, still raising his arms to avoid the syrup from sticking his sweater to his skin. “Ugh-- go in there and get me some paper towels."

Gordon sighs and takes two steps before something in his gut stops him in his tracks.

(Why does this feel so familiar?)

“Why can’t you get yourself some paper towels?” He asks, turning back towards the scientist.

Bubby makes an odd face at him, an expression that Gordon can’t parse. “I _could_ , but... I don’t want to go in there.”

Gordon squints at him. “Why not?”

Bubby makes a frustrated noise. “Because I don’t! Just go and get some damn paper towels already before this dries!” He raises his voice and waves Gordon off towards the bathroom, not turning his back. Not looking away.

Alarm bells are ringing in Gordon’s head.

(Something was about to go terribly, terribly wrong.)

Gordon swallows the rush of adrenaline that’s making his heart pound and clenches his right fist. “You’d have an easier time cleaning yourself off if you used the sink in there. Why don’t you just— go into the bathroom yourself? And do that?”

Bubby stops still. He lowers his arms and scowls darkly at Gordon. His face looks thunderous.

Before he can reply, Tommy and Coomer come running back up.

“Mr. Freeman, it’s okay, we stopped her from-- from…” He trails off, his eyes flitting between Bubby and Gordon. Gordon doesn’t take his eyes off of Bubby initially but he can feel the itch of three pairs of eyes on him.

He glances, quickly, and sees the three of them do the same at each other in their ritual of silent communication.

Gordon’s stomach drops.

“Gordon,” Dr. Coomer begins, his voice wavering nervously. “Why don’t we just--”

“It’s all of you,” Gordon breathes, his eyes going wide. “You’re all in on it.”

Tommy frowns. “Wh-- what? What are-- are you talking about, Mr. Freeman?”

“I-- I can’t believe this.” Gordon’s lips tilt up into a bitter smile and he holds his hands out to the sides. “After everything? Everything we’ve been through? _Everything I’ve done_?”

Coomer tilts his head and wrings his hands. “Gordon, I believe we may have reached a misunderstanding--”

“Bullshit.” Gordon seethes, trembling with barely-contained rage. “I’m not fucking falling for this shit again-- You’ll have to knock me out and cut my arm off yourselves because I refuse-- I fucking _refuse_ to let you get the drop on me this time.”

(It’s like watching three lightbulbs turn on above all of their heads.)

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bubby groans, rolling his eyes with his whole body. “You’re a goddamn _idiot_.”

“Fuck you!” Gordon yells, pointing at Bubby. “ _You’re_ the goddamn idiot if you think I’m letting you do this to me _again_!”

“Mr. Freeman--” Gordon whirls his eyes to Tommy, hardly hearing him over the staccato of his own heartbeat and the constant chant of _RUN RUN RUN RUN_ in his head. Tommy has his hands raised in a peaceful, non threatening gesture, but it barely registers in Gordon’s mind. 

(He just sees the pale green of his eyes and remembers instantly just who he’s related to.)

Tommy tries again. “Gordon. You-- you’re hypo-- hyperventilating-- you need to take a deep breath!”

Gordon knows, distantly that he’s right. He knows that he could very well be having a panic attack. He knows this all but he sees Bubby take a step forward and moves his hand to his concealed holster so fast it makes Tommy flinch back.

Gordon doesn’t have time to feel guilty for it-- he just swallows thickly and furrows his brow, flickering his eyes between his (friends) potential enemies. He feels sweat beading down his face as his chest heaves with each breath, every inhale becoming an uphill battle.

“Stay away,” He barks out, lowering his stance. “Stay the _fuck_ back.”

“Then calm the hell down!” Bubby shouts back. “We’re trying to help, dumbass--”

“Pl-- please, Gordon, just-- just focus on your breathing--”

“Stop! _Stop_!” He shakes his head, his free hand pulling tightly at his hair. The sting of it helps him think-- helps clear the fog--

“You stop first!”

“Just let us-- let us help!”

“You’re trying to ambush me!” Gordon takes a step back. “There’s-- there’s soldiers in that fucking bathroom, I know it--”

“Stop being an idiot, Gordon!”

“Is it-- is it fucking _Forzen_ ?! We-- we didn’t kill him-- he’s the last one it _has_ to be him--” Gordon bites back a scream of frustration and clenches his right fist so tight that he feels the burn of his nails digging into his palm.

“There’s-- there’s no soldiers, Mr. Freeman, I swear--” 

(Tommy looks _so_ worried and Gordon once again has to wonder-- how far can someone take an act like this?)

A hand lands on his shoulder.

Gordon doesn’t even hesitate.

He can’t pull his gun out fast enough, he knows he can’t, so he pushes all his strength and momentum into his arm. He spins and prepares to feel his elbow smash into someone’s (Forzen’s, his panicked brain supplies) nose, prepares to hear the snap of cartilage and see the gush of blood--

But then his elbow lands in someone’s firm, open palm.

But then he doesn’t spin fully around and he’s just looking over his shoulder, right at Dr. Coomer.

“Gordon,” Dr. Coomer says slowly, his tone low and cold. “You need to take a deep breath.”

Gordon stares into his dark green eyes, his own wide open.

He looks at the emotionless expression on his friend’s face.

And he realizes, as his heart skips a beat and his lungs struggle to take in air, Dr. Coomer is gripping his _right arm_.

 _(“There’s an entrance in your suit, Dr. Freeman,_ **_and I want in_ ** _.”)_

Gordon throws himself to the left so hard he falls onto the pavement, but he quickly scrambles back onto his feet. He gasps, panting harshly as he whips his eyes around at all three of them. He takes a few steps back and jumps sharply when his back touches a wall.

“No,” He whimpers, his fingers splaying out against the wall. “No, no, no-- stay-- STAY _BACK_!”

They’re drawing a crowd now, Gordon sees, but he couldn’t give less of a shit in this moment.

“Gordon,” Coomer’s eyes are bright green again. “We aren’t trying to hurt you, just--”

“Stop saying that!” He yells. “Fucking STOP! If you aren’t trying to fucking ambush me again then why the fuck-- why was Bubby--”

“I’m claustrophobic, you goddamn moron!” Bubby blurts out.

The confession stops Gordon in his tracks. He chokes on his own breath and his hand moves up to clench tightly at his shirt. His chest is tight, something pressing down so hard he feels like he can barely move.

(He knew that, he knew Bubby is claustrophobic, he knew, why didn’t he think? Why didn’t he--)

He looks up again, tries to quell his panic but his eyes latch onto the way that Dr. Coomer has his hand carefully poised near his own holster in what (could) would’ve been a casual way if Gordon didn’t know better. The way that Tommy looks so very nervous, far more nervous than he’s ever seen, but he’s got that spark of hope in his eyes. His hope that Gordon’s going to swallow it and buy it.

(Liars liars _liars liars liars **liars**_ \--)

“That’s--” Gordon wheezes. “That’s _bullshit_.”

Their nervous/hopeful expression turned disappointed and frustrated. Bubby groans and slaps a hand to his head.

“Fuck you,” Gordon hisses. Did they really think they would get him like that? He knows the best way to lie is to include as much truth as possible. “Fuck you. I’m not-- I’m not fucking stupid! You’re a goddamn liar-- you’re a liar and a fucking _coward_ for not just killing me _yourself_.”

Bubby moves to take a step forward but Tommy stops him. “Let’s not-- Gordon, I know that-- that--”

“Oh shut _up_ , you don’t know _shit_ !” Gordon sweeps his hand in front of him, gesturing towards Tommy. “You never have! You-- _You’re just a dumb fucking kid_!”

It’s like time stops.

Literally.

The world fades into greys and blues as the drawing crowd pauses around this-- every movement stopped and unfinished. Everything stilled to a complete and utter stop with a shadow hanging over all of it.

Everything and everyone except Gordon and Tommy.

Tommy, whose pale green eyes are glowing softly, whose face holds a look of fury that Gordon has never, ever seen grace the man’s features before.

Gordon exhales shakily as watches this happen, his shaking hands uncurling from their fists.

Gordon sees Tommy blinking rapidly and registers that it’s because he’s trying desperately to stop himself from shedding any tears.

Tears that Gordon caused.

Oh, God, what did he _do_?

All of the tension drains from Gordon’s body and he has to steady himself on the wall.

_What the fuck did he do?_

“Tommy…”

“Don’t,” Tommy hisses, his tone striking Gordon like a snake bite. “Don’t.”

So he doesn’t. He lets his hand fall to his side as he watches Tommy compose himself and Bubby and Coomer stand silently and still, far too still.

“Mr. Freeman,” Tommy starts, pulling his hands from his face and looking down at him. He struggles with his words but takes a deep breath, putting on a firm face despite his glistening eyes. “I know that-- that you’ve been having a rough time and I know it’s hard but— I— you gave me your word— and I thought it meant something but—“

Gordon’s stomach drops right into the floor when Tommy doesn’t even try to stop his tears from falling down his cheeks.

“It’s— it’s not fair of you to keep— keep using us as your punching bags!” Tommy says, raising his voice. “I’m _not_ stupid and— and I’m _not a kid_ ! But— but that’s not even… that’s not— not what I’m _really_ upset over, though.”

Tommy pauses, hesitating before looking Gordon dead in the eyes. His eyes glow even brighter. “If— do— do you _really_ think I would let you get hurt like that again, Dr. Freeman? Af—After everything _I’ve_ done for _you_?”

Gordon feels like he wants to throw up because— he doesn’t have an answer to that. He doesn’t. He works his throat, trying to say something, fuckin’ _anything_ , but _nothing_ comes out. Tommy looks away and at the ground with a blink and a sigh.

Somehow, seeing Tommy look disappointed in him is far, far worse than tears.

(It makes Gordon feel like the floor has been ripped out from under him.)

“I know you don’t… don’t _really_ mean what you said,” Tommy says quietly, a sudden contrast to his yelling. “But— but it _hurt_ . And that’s— that’s not _okay_ . … You can’t keep pushing us away like this, Mr. Freeman, ‘cus… ‘cus we might actually _listen_ , one day.”

God, does Gordon know this.

(God, does Gordon fear this.)

And with that, time resumes.

Everything fades back into color and he watches Coomer and Bubby begin to move, sees their faces morph from shock to anger— he gets dual glares as Tommy keeps his eyes to the floor, brows furrowed with an out-of-place scowl twisting his face.

Gordon assesses every detail of this situation and does what he’s always done best.

Gordon _runs_.


	3. i’ve been invaded by the dark (can't escape)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: drunk characters, no “on-screen” drinking tho

It’s been…

Tommy does the math in his head.

Seven days. One week, since they last saw Gordon. Since he’d run away. 

But he’s not _gone-gone_ , he’s not _missing_. Tommy knows that Gordon is at his home. Just like how he knows that Bubby and Harold are out grocery shopping and how his Dad isn’t really anywhere right now, which usually means he’s working. Tommy knows a lot of things that he doesn’t think about much.

But it’s been seven days since Gordon has spoken to any of them. Tommy knows, just regular knowing, that Gordon is a social person. Gordon could go on and on for hours, keep talking and jumping tracks and gets louder as he gets more passionate about what he’s saying. He’s also a very touch-orientated person, he likes to touch people’s shoulders and backs and arms as he talks to them and pat their faces and give them big bear hugs.

Gordon had barely held on when he’d been alone for the little bit right after he’d lost his arm, and had almost collapsed onto Tommy when he saw him. Gordon wouldn’t survive without regular human interaction, without touching other people or even just being able to talk to them.

Which is why Gordon going seven days without reaching out is very, _very_ worrying.

The last time Tommy had seen Gordon was at the zoo, when he had accidentally paused time just to yell at him and Gordon had run away right after. He— he still feels bad about it. He doesn’t like using his powers if he can help it but he’d just been so _frustrated_ . It _still_ makes him feel frustrated just thinking about it.

He sighs and rests his head back on his couch. Sunkist is laid out on top of him like a blanket, having sensed his anxiety. He runs a hand through her soft fur idly as his thoughts race. He— he should do something, right? He should reach out. Make sure he’s doing okay. Gordon’s not in the best mindset right now, that much is obvious.

It would be no problem, as Tommy’s just gotten home from work anyways. He has dinner to make in a couple hours but he should be back by then. A quick check-in. Just to make sure Gordon is fine. Yeah.

Tommy stands, wiggling out from underneath of Sunkist. She wags her tail amicably and adjusts, taking the whole couch for her giant self, resigning to take a nap. He grabs his phone from it’s charger and slips on his shoes, dialing Harold as he walks out of the door.

“Hello, Tommy!” He greets, tinny and boisterous as always. “How are you? I’m at the store with my dear Bubby!”

“I’m— I’m alright, but, listen, do you— do you wanna come with me to check on Mr. Freeman? It’s just— he hasn’t reached out in while and I’m— I’m worried about him!”

“Oh,” Harold says. “Right. Yes, I’ll come along. Do you want…”

Tommy winces. “I— I don’t think it would be very s— a very good idea if you brought Dr. Bubby. No— No offence!”

“Believe me, none taken. I understand. … Very well. We’re checking out right now, I’ll be there soon. Wait for me?”

“Of— of course!”

“See you soon, Tommy.”

Tommy ends the call and walks to Gordon’s. It’s not a very long walk simply because he doesn’t want it to be. He doesn’t question this.

He waits outside on the sidewalk for Harold to arrive for only a couple of minutes. He pulls up in his car, a beat up green little old-school Volkswagen Beetle. Tommy waves at him and smiles, but his insides are feeling more twisted up by the second.

“Good evening, Dr. Coomer.” Tommy greets. “I’m— I— Thanks for— for—“ He struggles with his words but Harold just nods.

“It’s no problem at all. I was feeling rather worried for our friend, as well.” He wrings his hands, and Tommy sees that his knuckles are bruised. He’s been boxing again, Tommy thinks. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad sign. “Oh, I do hope he’s alright.”

“Only one way to— to find out.” Tommy turns to look at the house. There’s no lights on inside, no curtains or blinds open. His car is parked in the driveway, and his motorcycle is parked on the street. It feels… ominous.

“Right. Well then.” Harold sucks in a breath. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

They make their way to the front door. The porch is empty, even devoid of the couple of plants Gordon kept around. Tommy takes a deep breath before reaching over and knocking on it. He waits for a minute before knocking again.

“Mis— Mr. Freeman?” He calls out. “It’s… it’s Tommy!”

There continues to be no response. Tommy looks nervously over at Harold, who doesn’t offer much other than a small tilt of his head. He leans forward and rests his forehead on the door. “I... I just want to talk. We’re… I’ve been worried.”

Tommy isn’t surprised when the silence continues, but it only heightens his anxiety. He isn’t sure what to do, here.

“Should… should we enter forcefully?” Harold murmurs, clenching his fist in front of him. Tommy rubs his chin as he thinks. His immediate reaction is _definitely not_. It’s easier to think about these things more rationally when his safety isn’t in immediate danger and he’s had a good night sleep and isn’t on a caffeine overdose. 

But, it could be Gordon’s safety that’s…

He nods decisively and Harold hesitates only a little bit before punching the door open. The lock snaps and the doorframe splinters with a sharp, echoing noise. The screws on the top hinge are torn out from the momentum but they don’t fully break, the door simply hangs there and swings back and forth.

There’s no immediate response or reaction within the house, even when the sound of the door being punched open had been so loud. Tommy steps over the threshold carefully, his eyes scanning the interior of the home. 

He hasn’t ever been inside Gordon’s house before now. He doesn’t think Gordon’s ever told him his address, actually, but that’s not the problem here.

The problem is that Gordon’s reasoning for never inviting them over is that he could never keep it clean, that he wanted to pick up first, that he needed to do the dishes. 

But looking around, Tommy sees that the house is clean, by all measures. It doesn’t even smell of cleaner, which means it can’t have just happened.

It doesn’t sit right in Tommy’s stomach. When he turns to Harold, he can see the same unease.

They walk further into the house. Tommy can see a laptop sitting on the dining table, closed and turned off. Papers are stacked near it and an empty coffee mug is being used as a paperweight. There’s dishes in the sink, only a few and not looking recently used. 

There’s a door open in the hallway and when they peek in, they find a child’s bedroom. Joshua’s bedroom. This room still has toys strewn about, left behind to be returned to the next time he visits. They leave it alone and continue. There are three more doors— one of them leading to a stacked washer/dryer combo and the other opening up into a bathroom. 

The door at the end of the hallway is closed. It must be the master bedroom, it’s the last place they could check. Gordon _must_ be in there. Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He raps gently on it with his knuckles before turning the handle and pushing it open, his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Gordon?” Harold calls out softly, the door creaking. It almost seems empty at first— just a queen bed, two nightstands, and a computer desk with the monitor turned off. 

Then Tommy sees him. A large lump in the middle of the bed, all curled up around his comforter. His face is hidden, pressed into the blanket. He doesn’t seem to react to their presence but they can see the rise and fall of his breathing.

Tommy approaches the bed first, something painful twisting in his chest as he really gets a good look at the man in front of him. The closer he is, the more he realizes that he smells intensely of alcohol. Tommy notices the empty craft beer bottles strewn across the floor on the side of the bed. He grimaces. That’s not even one of the good kinds of craft beers. 

Tommy looks down at Gordon. His hair is fanned out on the pillow, the streaks of grey contrasting against the brown. Sighing, he reaches his hand out and puts it on Gordon’s shoulder, only to pull back like he’s been burned when Gordon flinches at the touch. He feels his own heart break just a little.

“Gordon,” Tommy whispers and puts his hand back. Gordon flinches, again, but softer this time. He rubs his shoulder with his thumb before beginning to rub up and down his arm. 

Gordon’s shaking now, his fingers digging tight into the blanket hiding his face. Tommy threads his fingers through his long hair, leaning forward onto the bed with his knee to get a better reach. He can see Gordon relax more and more with each second that goes by and Tommy settles to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Gordon,” Harold says, approaching the other side of the bed. “Are you... “ He stops, trailing off, before shaking his head. He doesn’t continue, seemingly unsure of just what to say in this situation. Tommy’s in the same boat, he thinks.

Tommy knits his brows together, not stopping in his gentle affection. “Mr. Freeman, you… have you just— have you just been laying here for the past week?” It’s a pointless question he thinks, but Gordon doesn’t answer. He’s not sure if that counts as it’s own answer, though.

Tommy sighs, his foot nudging an empty bottle on the floor. “You— you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Gordon finally peeks his face out, his warm brown eye half-lidded. “Yeah,” He croaks out, his voice raspy and rough from either disuse, sleep, or crying. “Sorry,” He adds on, quietly, and Tommy just shakes his head. 

“Don’t— can— can you stand up?” He asks, and Gordon nods. He backs away as Gordon drags himself up. When he’s up he sways and stares blankly up at Tommy, blinking slowly. He doesn’t have his glasses on. They aren’t on either of the nightstands.

“Gonna be honest,” Gordon says. “Not _entirely_ sure that either of you are real.”

Tommy really doesn’t know what to say to that, his heart cracking a little more. “We— we’re real, Gordon. Promise.”

Gordon huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, I bet you’d say that either way.”

Tommy looks to Harold for help but the older man looks just as confused and pained by this interaction. Tommy takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders— he needs to be the leader, again. Gordon needs him right now. It’s not time for Tommy to be hurting, it’s time for Tommy to be helping.

“Can— could— can you take a— a shower on your own?” He asks Gordon, who has swung his legs over the side of the bed and is holding his right hand, clenching and unclenching it tightly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, maybe.” He stands, stumbling for a moment with a breathy laugh and carefully making his way towards his bathroom. He almost trips in the door frame but catches himself.

“Dr. Coomer, can you...” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence for Harold to nod dutifully and follow Gordon. An echoing _‘Hello, Gordon!’_ comes from within the bathroom.

Tommy waits a moment to the shower turn on and then turns to walk out of the bedroom. He throws off his coat and rolls up his shirt sleeves, draping the coat over the arm of Gordon’s couch. He scours the kitchen cabinets to find a trash bag and gets all of the bottles cleaned up from the bedroom floor. 

The way Gordon looked at him was so, so reminiscent of the way he looked at him back in Black Mesa. He was disconnected, overwhelmed with everything, woozy and barely able to stand/- even if this time it was because of alcohol rather than blood loss.

It’s… seeing Gordon like this, again, is making Tommy want to fall back into the same mindset he had in Black Mesa. Terrified, quiet, trying to cling to what he knew in order to make sense of what he didn’t. It helped him be what Gordon needed back then. Someone to lean on, not pushing back on his hurtful comments he made in times of stress and doing what needed to be done. Killing the barnacles, leading him through Black Mesa when they both thought they’d been abandoned and left for dead down there, distracting him with facts and random trivia and OSHA guidelines. Leading the team when Gordon found himself unable to. Protective and ruthless.

(He can almost feel the heavy weight of the pistol in his coat from across the room. Just knowing it’s there is grounding him in ways that a lot of things can’t.)

But right now, fear isn’t what Gordon needs. Fear is useful when he needs to keep going past his exhaustion and past his sensory overload, fear is useful to keep him fast and smart and strong in life-threatening times. Tommy’s fear won’t sober up his friend, his fear won’t make him understand why Gordon’s hurting so bad. 

Because Tommy may know a lot of things, but he doesn’t know why Gordon is having such a hard time. He’s been saying he was okay this whole time. He _promised_ that he would say if he wasn’t.

Tommy drops the last bottle in the bag, tying it up and carrying it into the kitchen. He drops it into the trash can in there and wipes his hands off. 

Before he can get back to work on his plan, his eyes are drawn to the fridge. Specifically to the various pictures and drawings pinned to it. 

There’s a child’s drawing of a stick figure with glasses and a brown pony tail. A picture of Gordon from years ago, sitting in a hospital gown and holding a newborn in his arms and looking so, so exhausted yet happier than Tommy’s ever seen him before. Another picture of Gordon shaking someone’s hand while dressed in cap and gown, grinning at the camera and holding up his framed diploma.

And there, right at the front, the newest addition, the picture they had taken barely a week ago, the one from the Zoo. The picture that Gordon had rolled his eyes at and taken simply because “no one else wants it,”— the one he carefully unfolded and put up at some point in the past few days. Despite how much he’s been hurting.

Tommy’s fear isn’t going to help Gordon understand how _loved_ he is.

(Tommy feels his heart stitching itself back together because no matter how hard it looks for Gordon, no matter how crabby or how frustrated, he’s always, always loved them.)

The sound of the shower cuts off and Tommy re-gathers himself. He does what he came in here to do, grabbing ingredients from the almost horrifyingly empty fridge and cabinets and putting together a meager meal. It’s nothing special, just a sandwich and some baby carrots, but Tommy knows it’ll do wonders for Gordon.

When he comes back into the bedroom, Gordon is re-dressed in a simple orange MIT t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He’s sitting on his bed again, talking to Harold, who is drying his hair with a towel. He’s got a vice grip around his right wrist again, his hand right on top of the jagged and still-new scar that runs around his right arm.

Gordon looks up at Tommy as he enters and he can still see how out of it he is. The shower definitely didn’t sober him up. 

“Hello, Tommy!” Harold smiles at him. He seems to be in a significantly better mood. It makes Tommy wonder what kind of conversation they had while he was away.

“Here, Mr. Freeman, I made you some— some food!” Tommy offers the plate to him and watches him take it gently with his left hand, his right remaining in his lap. He carefully sets it down on his lap and stares at it for a second. Then he looks back up.

“I… maybe you are real.” He murmurs, like he’s awed or surprised. “Hallucinations don’t usually make me food. They just stare. Or shoot at me.”

Harold’s toweling stops as Gordon picks up a baby carrot and munches on it. He gathers up the damp towel and goes into the bathroom before coming out with Gordon’s hamper and leaving the room with it, closing the door behind him. Tommy sits on the edge of the bed, watching Gordon slowly eat the single baby carrot.

He swallows but doesn’t take another bite. Instead, he blinks rapidly at his plate and clears his throat. “You— you _are_ real, right? This isn’t just another fucked up dream?” 

He says this with a desperate expression on his face and Tommy’s completely taken aback for a second. 

Because of Tommy’s hesitance, Gordon starts rambling, speaking faster and faster. “I’ve had fucked up dreams like this before of— of Benrey or Coomer or— or Josh and they always end bad and I just— I don’t want this to turn into a nightmare. It’s really, really nice and I miss you guys so much and I’m so _sorry_ and—“

Tommy rushes forward and wraps Gordon in a tight hug.

(He’s mindful of the plate in his lap, he still wants Gordon to eat.)

“I’m real.” He promises, digging his fingers into his shirt to push the point. “I’m not— I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Not ever.”

Gordon reaches up with his right hand and wraps it around his shoulders. “I— I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep hoping this is actually _real_.” He laughs wetly just as something warm starts soaking into Tommy’s shirt.

“Then— then stop _hoping_ and just _believe_.” Tommy says firmly.

“Okay,” Gordon sniffles. “I just— I love you so much, man. You’re— you’re so nice to me and I’m... I don’t deserve you, any of you—“

Tommy just sighs and rests his chin on Gordon’s shoulder, letting the man ramble on. He can’t hold Gordon to anything he says right now, he knows. It really, really hurts to hear him say these things about himself but he knows he wouldn’t be saying them while sober.

“It’s— it’s gonna be okay, Mr. Freeman.” Tommy tells him, rubbing his back, not even fully believing the words he’s saying. Gordon’s breathing is starting to even out, now. Tommy pulls away from the hug. He brushes some hair out of Gordon’s face, pushing the strands sticking to his wet face behind his ear. “One step at a time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nods, his eyes falling shut. “Yeah. One… one step.” He sighs and opens them back up. Tommy smiles at him and he half-smiles back. “I— I don’t know what the next step is.”

“Why— why don’t you finish your food?” Tommy asks gently, nudging the plate with his knee. Gordon nods again and starts eating it faster, as if he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until just now. It fills Tommy with relief and he watches him until there’s nothing but crumbs. Once done, Tommy grabs the empty plate and sets it on the nightstand before he spots an empty water glass.

“Here, Mr. Freeman, I’ll get you some water.” Tommy says and goes to fill it up in the bathroom. He smiles at Coomer, who is standing in the hallway, currently trying to figure out how to work the washing machine tucked away in a small closet. He nods in greeting, an easy smile forming on his face, and Harold smiles back.

Tommy comes back into the room and finds Gordon wincing and grabbing at his right arm again. “Shit,” He groans, flexing the shaky fingers. “It— it usually doesn’t hurt this bad.”

Tommy frowns as he sets the glass into his left hand. “Are— do you need any um, any pain medication?”

“Nah,” Gordon shakes his head and chugs half the glass, setting it down before wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm. “Pain meds don’t, like, do anything. It’s not really... physical? I— I think my psy— psychiatric— goddamnit— the fuckin’ brain doctor whatever said it was like, phantom pains. All up here.” He taps his temple with his right hand and hisses, moving it back down to his lap. “I’ll be okay once I’m asleep.”

 _If_ he can get to sleep is unsaid. Instead, Tommy just lets him get comfy in bed, curling up again. He’s still got a tight grip on his arm.

“I…” Tommy hesitates. He’s seen how Gordon’s reacted to it before and he doesn’t blame him but… but it might help. He wants it to help. “Can… Can I… Is it okay if I use um, some Sweet Voice to help you fall asleep?”

Gordon tenses as expected, his eyes flickering up to Tommy. He visibly swallows.

“Yeah,” Gordon says, finally. “Yeah, that— that’d be nice.”

Tommy nods and lets his eyes fall close. He has to focus, it doesn’t come as naturally to him as it does to Sunkist or… or Benrey. He focuses on the physical feeling in his chest, manifesting it into a song. A melody. Something calming. A nice dark blue.

Tommy opens his mouth and sings, lights spilling from his throat and fading into Gordon’s. He takes in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, his body relaxing and sinking into the mattress. Tommy stops then, watching Gordon suddenly struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Huh,” He mumbles, smacking his lips a little. “Tastes like… like cotton candy…” 

He drifts off. Tommy brushes another lock of hair out of his face. He looks far more peaceful like this. Like the world’s been lifted from his shoulders, for now. Tommy leans down and impulsively presses a kiss to his temple.

He takes the plate and leaves the room, casting a glance back at Gordon before he does.

Harold is in the living room, frowning with a hand on his chin while staring at the broken front door that’s barely able to close now. He looks up at Tommy, a question in his eyes.

“Gordon’s asleep.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Ho— hopefully he won’t um, won’t wake up until tomorrow.”

Harold exhales, his entire body sagging with it. “Oh I do hope so,” He says. “He most assuredly needs the rest.”

“Yeah,” Tommy falls onto the couch, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

There’s a lull as they both fall quiet. It’s nearly sunset, now. There’s a chill coming in through the cracks between the front door. Tommy focuses on the small clink-clink of his fidget ring as he twists it back and forth.

“What do we do?” Harold asks, his voice quiet.

Tommy sighs. “I’m— I’m going to stay the night, I think. I don’t want Gordon to— to wake up and think it really was all a dream.” He moves the fidget ring faster and faster, his leg beginning to bounce again. “Um. If— if you could— Is it alright…”

“Anything at all, my dear Tommy.”

“It’s— it’s getting late but um, tomorrow will you— will you and Dr. Bubby come back and help me fix the door and um, go grocery shopping for him?” He asks, looking up at Harold.

Harold nods. “We’ll both be here bright and early!”

Tommy smiles in relief, the tension in his shoulders lessening some. “Thanks, Dr. Coomer.”

“Of course.” He assures him and takes a deep breath. “Well, as you said, it is getting rather late. I should get going, I’m sure Bubby is getting impatient for me to make dinner. Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight! Tell Dr. Bubby I said hi!” He waves as Harold carefully opens the messed up door and leaves, jamming it shut behind him. 

The door creaks as it settles in it’s precarious position within the broken door frame. Tommy waits a moment until he hears the sound of Harold’s old car start up and rumble away into the distance. 

Once it’s gone, Tommy brings his knees up to his chest and lets out a shuddery, shaky sigh. His fingers dig into his biceps and he scrunches his eyes up, willing this horrible ache in his chest to leave. 

This— this situation is all kinds of _fucked up._

Gordon is struggling and has _been_ struggling and Tommy saw him struggling and he just— He doesn’t know why Gordon _kept saying_ he was fine. He— Gordon never had any issues with asking for help before, in Black Mesa. Was— did Gordon not think it was important this time? That _he_ was important? Was that it?

Tommy pulls out the silicone necklace hidden under his shirt and bites on it, chewing as he wracks his brain. Gordon was always so open with them with so many other things. What changed? Did something happen to him between Tommy’s party and now? 

Gordon loves the Science team. That much is clear, Tommy knows this to be a fact. But did— did they do something? Did they say something that made him think he couldn’t trust them with this?

Tommy’s _killed_ people for him. Why would he ever think that _this_ would drive him away? Why would he ever think he couldn’t _trust_ him? He trusted Tommy with his _life_ in Black Mesa.

So why is it different _now_?

(What was the variable? What changed the reaction? Why did the data change? Think, Tommy, think— you’re a _scientist_ . Look at the facts, observe the patterns, draw your hypothesis. Connect the dots. It used to be that Gordon trusted you but the data is proving you _wrong—)_

_(Don’t let yourself lose another friend.)_

There’s a sudden _woof_ and a burst of blue and Tommy sighs as the tension releases. He shivers as he feels the effects— the tingling on the back of his neck and the way his breathing starts to come easier. 

The taste of Fanta Berry is strong on his tongue and he instinctively reaches a hand out to run it through Sunkist’s fur. She leans heavily against him, whining and attempting to burrow in between his legs and chest.

“Hey, girl,” He murmurs, letting his necklace fall from his mouth. “How’d you know that I…”

“Sunkist, did not know. I… did.”

Tommy turns his head up and sees his Dad standing just behind Sunkist, still dressed in his work clothes. He’s frowning, and Tommy’s too exhausted to really try harder to read his body language more than that.

“Oh. Hi, Dad.” He waves weakly. His Dad nods. “What’s um, what’s up? You’re— you’re usually still working until six.”

His frown shifts. “It is… seven. Now.”

Tommy blinks and looks out of the patio door. It’s fully dark outside, but the dining room light has been turned on. Oh.

“Oh,” He says, still stroking Sunkist as she rests her head on his lap. “I— I guess I just… lost track of time.” 

“Yes. You were, not home, when I arrived. It is unlike you to, miss, dinner. I was… worried. You can, understand, my worry, surely.”

Tommy smiles up at his Dad. “Aw, Dad, I’m— I’m…” He trails off, looking down and away. He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to lie. Not to his Dad. “... I’m not okay.”

There’s a beat where nothing happens but then Tommy hears his Dad walk around the coffee table to sit on his left side. He puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, causing him to glance up again just for a second.

“Did something, happen?”

Tommy hunches his shoulders slightly. “Yeah. Um. Re— remember when I told you about… about the zoo trip?”

“I… _remember_.” His Dad’s grip tightens for a moment before relaxing. Tommy’s sure that if he had been looking, his eyes would have been doing the thing. “Did Dr. Freeman say something… to you? Again?”

“Not— not in the way you mean. Not like… not like before.” Tommy scratches behind Sunkist’s ear. “He’s… not doing well, Dad. He’s— I think that um. Something really fucked him up. Something— something other than Black Mesa.”

His Dad doesn’t say anything. Tommy takes it as a cue to keep going.

“Gordon... He— he kept saying he was fine. But he _wasn’t_ . He lied. I— I don’t know why. I thought he trusted us enough to— to ask for help.” Tommy interlocks his fingers, squeezing his hands together. “...I thought he trusted _me_ . I don’t— why doesn’t he trust _me_ anymore? Something had to have happened— something I wasn’t— wasn’t around for. It _has_ to be that. Because… because if it’s not that, then…” 

(Then it had to have been something Tommy did that caused it.)

Tommy leans forward and presses his forehead to his knuckles. “...I don’t know how to help him, Dad. I— He said. He said he doesn’t… doesn’t deserve me. I don’t—“ Tommy chokes on his words. “What— what do I _say_ to that?”

His Dad is silent as Tommy holds his head in his hands. He rubs up and down his back, trying his best to soothe him.

“I do not think that you should be… burdening, yourself, with all of this.” His Dad tells him quietly. “It is not your… ah… weight, to carry.”

Tommy lifts his head again. “But—“

“This isn’t to say that you... should _not_ offer your, help. Simply that… you shouldn’t allow yourself to become… overwhelmed, with possibilities. With the, _what-ifs_ , so to speak.” His Dad looks at him with a small smile. “You are… a very, capable, man, Tommy. I do not doubt your, ability, to support others. I just believe that Dr. Freeman is, also, very, capable. He has always performed… exceptionally. Even in the most troubling, of times, he always was able to… bounce back. This situation is, no different, in my eyes.”

Tommy wipes at an eye with the back of his hand. “I… I guess you’re right.” He admits. “Gordon’s always been pretty— pretty strong.”

“Indeed he is,” His Dad nods, patting Tommy’s shoulder. “and I imagine he will, continue to be.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Tommy leans his head on his Dad’s shoulder and feels him tense before relaxing. “He’s— he’ll be okay. _We’ll_ be okay. Just— just gotta get through this!”

“Yes,” His Dad tightens his grip on his shoulder again, squeezing for a second. “Everything will be... alright.”

Tommy finds himself smiling and his chest feels lighter, now. “Thanks, Dad. For— for talking with me. I think… I think I know how to— to help, now.”

“Of course, Tommy.” His Dad says warmly. He stands up and adjusts his suit, dusting himself off. Sunkist begins wagging her tail faster as he does. “If you insist on, staying, the night… I will. Get out of your hair. And perhaps… order in, for tonight.”

“Oh no! I— I was supposed to make dinner!” Tommy gasps. “Oh, I’m so sorry—“

“Do not worry, you have been otherwise… preoccupied.” His Dad walks back to the position he arrived in. Sunkist stands up and goes to sit at his feet, barking out a burst of pink as she does. “I, understand. Besides, this will give me an… opportunity. To try out the new, _Thai restaurant_ , down the street.”

“Oh! Ok, then! Tell me how— how it is!” 

“I will. Well then. Goodnight, Tommy.” 

Tommy waves at his Dad. “Goodnight, Dad. I love you.”

“And I you.” His Dad smiles and waves back before he’s gone again. Sunkist, too. 

Tommy sighs and stretches his arms above his head. Well, he’d better get settled in for the night now that it’s all settled. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks his emails, laying down on the couch. He answers a few and scrolls through Youtube idly, resigning himself to a night of nothing but dog videos and Youtube poops.

It’s only 45 minutes later does he hear the rustle of a plastic bag and look up. He finds a small bag on the coffee table with a small container of soup and a styrofoam carton. There’s a note on top and Tommy sits up and takes it gently.

_Tell me how it is._

Tommy laughs softly and smiles, something warm swelling in his chest.

“Thanks, Dad.” Tommy murmurs and begins to dig in.


End file.
